Page 83 of The Preacher's Pet

They do, and her knees come down either side of me to support herself. I grab her hips and jackhammer up into her.

She slams her hands on my pecs and holds on as I thrust into her so hard she bounces on me.

“I’m coming,” she cries. “Oh, Roman. Oh, God.”

My orgasm hits me at the exact same time. I see the stars above me, feel the wind on my skin, and the ecstasy rushing through my cock. I give this to her, the offering of not only my cum, but an essence of myself.

My energy, my passion and my virginity.

I experience a moment of utter clarity, like I’ve never had before. We’re all connected. The four of us, and the earthbeneath us, and the sky above. We’re all one and the same, joined together.

Nothing is going to pull us apart.

The final shocks of my orgasm fade, and I pull her to me and kiss her mouth. The curtain of her pale blonde hair falls around my face, shielding us from the others, like we are blessed with this moment of privacy.

Flipping us around, so she’s on her back, and I’m still between her thighs, I lower my head as I kiss all over her body.

I murmur my words into her skin. “Thank you for that honor, Ophelia.”

46

OPHELIA

I stareat the ceiling in the water tower. I’ve been carried back through the woods. Bathed. Dried. Then put to bed with a mug of hot chocolate. They kissed me, and petted me, and treated me like a queen. Out there in the woods was a different matter.

Flashes of what happened keep flitting through my mind. The way they all took me so aggressively. I wasn’t sure at some points if they’d stop even if I had used my safe word. Then at the end, what Roman had done seemed so transgressive, but then he’d been so kind and tender when he’d kissed my body and thanked me

The low murmur of them talking and laughing as they play a video game drifts over to me.

I feel so strange. On the one hand, there is no voice, which is amazing. On the other, I’ve just let three men chase me and fuck me, so I’m probably going to hell… Prophet in my head or not.

Still, however this turns out, I feel as if these men own me now, and in my way, I own them.

I’m anxious that the Prophet will come back the moment I’m alone again. It’s comforting, being here with the Preachers, but I can’t stay this way forever. I need to learn to be by myself. Thethought of being so reliant on these three men scares me in a different way.

Can I rely on them? Can I trust them?

It’s not as though we’ve talked about any kind of future, and we barely know each other, really. Maybe it’s different with Cain, because of our childhood together, but Malachi and Roman have only just come into my life.

I think about the fact I was Roman’s first time and smile to myself. It’s safe to say it was a moment neither of us will forget.

I slip into an exhausted sleep, only waking when a solid body presses in behind mine, slipping a hand beneath my head so I use his bicep as a pillow. Cain. I’m conscious of more movement around me as the other two find places to sleep, too. My muscles relax. Surrounded by them, I’m safe and protected.

I’m right where I want to be.

The next morning,I put off going back to my dorm room for as long as possible. The guys offer to come with me, but how can I test this if they do? I need to be alone. That doesn’t stop me feeling sick with fear. The peace I’ve experienced since last night has been blissful, but I’m terrified it won’t last. What will I do if it doesn’t? While I’m sure the Preachers will be perfectly happy with an excuse to fuck the Prophet’s voice right out of me—and I’d be happy to let them—it’s not a long-term fix. I need to be able to exist on my own.

Taking a deep breath, I open my bedroom door and step inside.

My body is tense, and even though I understand the voice is internal, I still find myself straining my ears, waiting for it to return. I go to the mirror in the bathroom and stare at myreflection. I lift my hand to touch my fingers to my scar. I’d spent so many years thinking how ugly it made me, and yet last night, I was worshipped. Nothing any of the Preachers have ever done has made me feel anything other than desired.

I suddenly realize I’m no longer thinking about the Prophet when I look at my scar. I’m thinking about the Preachers instead. I look at my hair and remember how much Malachi loves it, how he wrapped the length around his cock while he touched himself. I lift my dress and turn around to get a view of my ass and the faint handprint that remains. My pussy is still swollen, and I’m conscious of how it feels between my legs. Those men left their mark on me.

And I’m not hearing the Prophet.

I can’t help but smile.

I’m free. I’m no longer his.

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